Deception
by Umino Ayame
Summary: not a sue, I promise. Ron met a girl while on holiday. He's forgotten about her, but he'll regret it soon enough. RonHermione
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I LIVE! Did you miss me? Dedicated to Als and Mya. I love them so. For those of you that read Ron's Obsession (gag), this is a rewrite. So much of a rewrite that it doesn't even really sound like the same person writing them. So yeah. That storyhas beentaken down because I hate how it's written. Hope you enjoy the new version!

And if you decide to review, tell me if you liked the new movie. I haven't seen it yet.

Also, for the most part, this is written in the first person, because I need the practice. So forgive me if it isn't that great.

**Warnings**: AU-ish, since I'm too lazy to figure out a way to fit this into the original plot. Also, I don't feel this is quite Ron-flavored. I guess it just sounds too smart, so some OOC on that count. Guest appearance, just for the hell of it. Obscure use of copyrights. Only the ones stated as mine belong to me, and I'm not making any money anyway, so don't sue. Ron's POV, mostly in past tense (unless I forget, in which case it may occasionally slip into third person). Lastly Ron-abuse.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter or Full Metal Alchemist. They belong to lots of people who aren't me. I DO, however, own Ronan, Melody, and Kristin.

_**Deception**_

_Present_

I suppose all of this started with _her_, damnit. I can't _believe_ I could be so _stupid_!

...Well, I guess I _can_. But who really wants to accept that they've been played the fool? Not me, that's for sure.

She must have been planning this from the start. And I played right into her hands! No doubt that I did everything exactly the way she expected.

I'm such an _idiot_!

_Three months earlier_

"Sorry," I mumbled, flushing and helping her pick up the broken china. I heard Fred laughing, and I felt my ears burn even hotter as we bumped heads again. Because I wasn't watching, no doubt.

"Sorry," I apologized again, scooting back a little and running a hand through my still-sooty hair **(1)**, glancing at the girl, gauging her probable anger. Strangely enough, she looked sheepish, too. Her blue eyes seemed to hide behind the veil of her chocolate-colored hair, avoiding my gaze for all she was worth.

I decided that I should just concentrate on picking up the pieces of china and not colliding with her a third time. It seemed safest.

Eventually, after about five minutes of crawling around on our hands and knees, Mum arrived and took pity on us.

"Oh, look _out_," she snapped, sounding exactly like Hermione does when she's about to tell me off for doing something stupid. With that, she waved her wand and the pieces flew back together to rest innocently on the tray. I could feel myself blushing again. What hadn't _I_ thought of that?

"Thank you," the girl murmured quietly, carefully picking up the tray and making sure that none of the pieces were going to fall again. Her face red, she tugged self-consciously at her waitress uniform for a moment, then hurried off toward the kitchen without another word.

"Ronald," Mum sighed as I got to my feet. "What are we going to do with you? You're as bad as your father! I hope you at least apologized to the poor girl."

I opened my mouth to explain that yes, I _had_ apologized, but she cut me off.

"Well, come on. Annie's expecting us, we don't want to keep her waiting."

"Yes, mum." Andromeda Tonks was still my favorite aunt, though we're not actually related anymore **(2)**. She's an important part of the Order, which is why we were taking this 'vacation' in the first place.

"Are you Molly?" a short kid with a blonde braid asked stiffly from behind Mum, startling us both.

"Yes, that's me. Who're you, dear?" she answered cheerfully, taking in his bright red coat and determined gold eyes.

"Your escort. I'll be taking you to her." With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, obviously expecting to be followed. He seemed to be fuming about something. The only words I caught were "bastard Colonel," "not helping," and "philosopher's stone."

I decided that the kid didn't need to know that the stone had been destroyed back in my first year. So long as we got to Aunt Annie's, we were fine, and it didn't matter how it happened.

Later that night, I laid awake, listening to Fred's snores. Fortunately for me, George was minding the shop, meaning that I was crammed into the small room with Fred instead of being forced to sleep on the lumpy couch with the cats.

Did I mention that I hate cats?

Mostly, my mind wouldn't leave me alone; it had chosen this point to torment me with replays of that girl. I kept seeing her looking at me out of the darkness, and there was something about her that I couldn't quite put my finger on. It wasn't that she was pretty, exactly; it was more that she was _different_. Distant, a little cold, and maybe a tad unearthly.

I made up my mind that I had to see her again.

I walked into the pub again the next day in a somewhat preoccupied state. Luckily for me, it had not occurred to me that the same girl might not be working today, in which case I would have a very difficult time of it.

A cheerful-looking witch greeted me at the door. "Can I help you, dear?" she asked, reminding me of my own mother.

"I was just looking for someone." I muttered distantly, looking around the room for her. In the far left corner of the room, I caught sight of her, and without another word to the witch still speaking to me, I began to make my way over to her.

Weaving carefully around benches and only tripping twice, I reached the brown-haired girl a couple of minutes later. Ignoring the group of rowdy-looking warlocks that she serving drinks to, I began nervously introducing myself.

"Hello. I met you yesterday." I stated stupidly, much to the displeasure of the closest warlock, who had a wild, sandy-colored beard to go with his equally-wild sandy-colored hair.

"Shove off, sonny!" he snarled. His fearsome appearance was rather ruined by the way his voice cracked embarrassingly.

"Do you have a minute?" I plowed on, taking no heed of the angry man.

"Not right now!" she half-snapped at me, her voice low and rather hoarse.

"When can I talk to you?" I persisted, following her from the warlocks' table.

"I'm off in a couple of hours." she answered grudgingly. "If you're still here, we can talk then." she conceded, sighing with exasperation.

"So, what didja want?" she asked several hours later, running her fingers through her somewhat tousled mane.

This was the first time I'd really thought about what I was going to say. "I-uh-um..." I stuttered, my ears turning scarlet. "I'm Ron Weasley," I finished lamely, flushing.

"So?" She fidgeted haughtily with the woven silver ring on her left thumb. "What've you got to do with me?"

"I...uh...wanted to apologize for running into you yesterday." I added uncomfortably, feeling more like an idiot every passing moment. "So...I'm sorry."

Instead of responding, she watched me coldly, as a cat watches a panicking mouse.

"So...um..." I muttered, trying to fill the silence, knowing that I was successfully making a complete fool of myself. "What's your name?"

"Melody." She was still playing with me; seeing just how long it would take me to get frustrated and leave.

"That's pretty..." I searched wildly for another topic, one that would force more than a one-word answer. "So...you...um...work here." Inwardly, I groaned.

**(1)** Soot from Floo powder. Ron doesn't have his Apparating license yet, though he's legally old enough to use magic. He failed the first time--splinched an eyebrow out of nerves, remember? The next testing period isn't until sometime this year. (This actually IS canon. I think the rest of these notes have to do with things completely fabricated by me)

**(2)** According to me, before Andromeda married Tonks' father, Ted, she was married to Molly's brother, Ronan, for a period of about six months. However, he was rather too much like Andromeda's sisters for her taste, and she divorced him almost immediately. However, Andromeda and Molly remained good friends, and so remained 'Aunt Annie' to the Weasley children. It's highly improbable, but hey. I wanted to put her in here. Cos she's cool. XD


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, all! Hopefully this is turning out better this time around?

**Warnings**: Same as last chapter: AU-ish, some OOC, obscure use of copyrights, ect. Ron-abuse.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter, Apophysis, or Acorna. The Suggestion Spells, the Insinuating Incantation, the Elixir of Enticement, and the Meandering Mixture ideas are all mine, too, so please ask if you want to borrow them.

_Two months later_

Sighing, I stumped into the library, tossed my bag down by Harry and Hermione, then flopped heavily into a chair. _Most_ of the chairs around Hogwarts could afford to be flopped into. Some would wobble dangerously, but most would hold up well enough. Unfortunately, the chair was one of those few particularly spindly and not-very-sturdy models that the library kept at the most out-of-the-way tables. As such, it usually isn't a good idea to flop, or do anything but settle gingerly, into one of them. There was a loud crack, and I was sitting on the floor, amidst the remains of the fragile chair.

Harry snickered; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly!" she whispered as I disentangled myself from the mass of splintered chair. She waved her wand, and the unfortunate piece of furniture flew back together.

"How come you're so good at nonverbal spells, anyway?" I muttered, pulling a large sliver of the chair out from the hem of my robes.

"You would be, too, if you lived with Muggles."

It was at this moment Madam Pince arrived, and began screeching at me, reprimanding me for making noise and breaking the chair. Then, she proceeded to throw us all from the library's premises, much to Hermione's dismay.

"Well done, Ron." she snapped, picking up the various belongings that had been tossed after her.

"It was an accident! Ruddy old bat..." I snarled to myself, beginning to pick up my own things. Fortunately, they had all still been in my bag, and therefore weren't scattered all over, as Hermione's and Harry's were. However, the cloth had torn a little, and one of my ink bottles had come smashing out, and was now spreading a blackberry-colored stain across the stone floor of the corridor. Irritated, I pulled out my wand, muttering "_reparo_" and then "_scourgify_". Carefully, I placed the ink back in my bag, pretending not to notice the faint purplish shadow remaining on the stone.

The Fat Lady was pretending to doze when we arrived at the portrait hole about ten minutes later. "_Apophysis_," Hermione said loudly. The Fat Lady snorted unconvincingly, still feigning sleep. A few more fruitless attempts that steadily became louder, I started yelling at the portrait, too. I wasn't in the mood to stand around all night.

Finally, when Harry joined in the shouted, the Fat Lady gave up the charade. "Fine," she sniffed waspishly, snapping open and nearly smashing me against the stone wall.

While Hermione fumed about 'idiot portraits' (apparently, she'd had a bad day; she was usually rather tolerant of the Fat Lady), I looked for a table large enough to spread all of our things on. Fortunately, the big one nearest the door was occupied only by a diminutive first year girl. She took one look at Hermione, made a small squeaking sound, and quickly vacated her seat, hurriedly shoving all of her books into her bag before scurrying toward the girls' dormitories.

I sighed, this time flopping into a much sturdier chair, thankful that it had probably stood much worse abuse than this, and wasn't about to collapse. Hermione settled herself across from me, then rested her forehead on the cool tabletop in a very un-Hermione-like way.

"'Smatter?" I asked her, pulling my Charms homework out of my bag, along with the newly-repaired ink bottle and a quill.

"Mrph." I think that was the most inarticulate thing I'd ever heard her say. At least, the most inarticulate if you excluded those times she was speechless with rage. Which, I gathered, was not the case this time.

"Didn't catch that, sorry." Harry murmured, also settling himself.

"Nothing." she muttered, yanking her Arithmancy book from her bag and beginning her homework without another word.

A few minutes passed in tense, relative silence. Finally, Harry dropped his quill. "I'll do this tomorrow." he told no one in particular, stuffing his Transfiguration essay back into his bag rather violently and heading toward the staircase to our dormitory.

"And where do you think you're going?" Hermione asked tiredly, with rather less than her usual vehemence when it came to procrastinating.

"Down to the Quidditch pitch." Seeing the look on her face, he added, "It's not like I'm getting anything done up here."

"Yeah, I'll come wi---" I began, getting halfway out of my chair before I noticed the glare that Hermione was giving me. "I mean, okay, see you later, mate." I amended, slumping back.

"Yeah," was his only reply as he ascended the stairs. Rather sullenly, I half-heartedly tried to force my concentration back to my schoolwork, but it was shattered once again when Harry returned a few moments later.

Firebolt slung over his shoulder and Invisibility cloak (I assumed) hidden under his robes, he muttered, "See you, mate," and left the Common Room.

I struggled through another quarter of an hour of Charms (Discuss How Suggestion Spells Could Be Incorporated Into a Meandering Mixture** (1)**) when I had an idea. I slipped a suddenly clammy hand into my robes, clasping it around my wand. Nervously, I forced myself to focus. I _still_ wasn't very good at nonverbal spells, and Hermione _couldn't_ know what I was up to. In my mind, I whispered the thoroughly difficult word string- it looked like nonsense, and would have been absolutely beastly to speak aloud, adding to the need for nonverbality. _Vhilynyaar thinyathellelan**(2)**_, I thought fiercely, desperately hoping this would work.

"Hermione," I croaked, my voice a little hoarser than it should have been if it had been caused by nervousness alone. I winced; the book hadn't mentioned any negative vocal side effects of this particular Insinuating Incantation. In fact, it hadn't mentioned any side-effects at all, which was part of why I had chosen it; the other part was because most of the others had even worse incantations or required a meld of two or more complex spells, which, needless to say, was currently quite beyond my proficiency.

Not noticing that she was ignoring me, I clutched my wand more tightly and poured what I judged to be a little more magic into the spell. I tried again. "Hermione." This time, it was a murmur, low and smooth, and I allowed myself to relax a little.

"What _now_, Ron?" she answered, slightly less waspish than usual. I took that as a sign that the spell was working, at least a little. Just to be safe, I put a bit more through the spell, repeating it in my head for good measure.

"It's getting kind of late," I stated, my voice not quite sounding like me anymore. Of its own accord, my body slid the chair around the table, edging closer to Hermione. I was feeling a little detached, but not really unpleasant.

"It's nine-thirty." she shot back flatly, pausing a moment, but not looking up from her book. Her eyes weren't moving anymore, though, and I took that as a good sign.

"Yeah, but aren't you _tired_?" Without my permission _or_ knowledge, my chair had somehow ended up resting a little behind her, and now, I reached out, placing my hands on her shoulders. Disturbingly, I realized there wasn't a thing I could do about it. Mentally shrugging, I sat back and allowed the spell to control me.

"A..a little." Hermione answered, tensing at the unexpected touch. Gently, I began to massage her shoulders, no longer bothering to fight the spell. There was obviously nothing I could do but A) wait for it to wear off or B) wait until Hermione noticed and broke it for me. Either way, I was stuck, for now.

"Maybe we should do this _tomorrow_...don't you think?" I whispered, working the tension out of her upper back. Little by little, she began to relax. "We've got the whole weekend...one night off won't hurt...will it?" I wheedled, stroking her neck. A small shiver traveled up her spine and her eyes slid closed.

"I...I don't know...we should probably do it _now..._" she answered hesitantly as I worked the knots out of her tense neck with a skill I never knew I could have.

"But we've got _loads_ of time..." I breathed into her ear. "We could put it off for just a _little_ bit...couldn't we?" A lock of bushy brown hair was wound around my finger. Delicately, I played with it, tickling her neck a little.

"Well," Hermione finally sighed, relaxing a little more. "Of course we--" Mentally, I began rejoicing though this had no effect on the self that was still playing with her hair.

"--Couldn't." she finished, slipping from beneath my hands. She turned to face me, her features becoming cold and unreadable. "Honestly, Ron," she went on as my hands fell to my sides and my spirits plummeted. "Did you think I wouldn't notice something that _clumsy_? You couldn't have been more obvious if you'd tried to slip me an Elixir of Enticement!"

I opened my mouth to argue with her, but she cut me off.

"Just think. If I'd used a Shield Charm, like I thought about, you would've been seducing _yourself_!"

"So why didn't you?" I asked quietly, my voice going a little hoarse again. Apparently, the spell was no longer working.

"Why didn't _you_ think properly before trying a Suggestion Spell? You heard Professor Flitwick! They can have just as much or more effect on the caster as the target!" Hermione sounded on the verge of being slightly hysterical.

"The book _said_ there were no side-effects---" I snapped, my voice rising as well.

"Just which spell did you _use_!" she asked, exasperated, as she stalked to the other side of the table in order to have a look at the book I'd been using.

"The _Insinuating Incantation_!" She sounded absolutely incredulous. "Are you _mad_? How much magic did you put into it!"

"I dunno." I shrugged. "Enough," I amended, becoming rather irate myself.

"This spell is so potent that it needs less magic than 'wingardium leviosa'!"

"Oh." For a moment, silence reigned. There really wasn't anything else to say.

"Forget it." she snapped, gathering up her things. "Do what you want; I'm going to bed."

I was left in the Common Room, feeling very stupid. I also packed my homework away, then dropped into a recently-vacated chair by the fire to wait for Harry, completely oblivious to what I now know was going on down on the Quidditch pitch.

"Ginny!" Harry hissed at the shadow behind the broom shed, checking the grounds to make sure no one else was around. "Ginny?" he repeated, creeping closer.

"Not quite." The figure stepped into the moonlight, and Harry barely had time to register that the girl with her wand covering him really _wasn't_ Ginny before he blacked out.

Harry didn't come up to bed that night. As I sat there, nodding off, I was half expecting him to just sneak by me. So, we'd wake up in the morning, me stiff from sitting in that chair all night and him smirking because he got a good night's rest.

I started out of a doze for the eighth time, deciding that it was time to go to bed. After all, he was always there in the morning, no matter how late he'd out or what he'd been up to. Reassured, I traveled up to the dormitory, yawning as I went. I was sure everything would be fine. Hermione probably wouldn't speak to me for awhile, but by lunch time she probably would have forgiven me.

With my mind quieted, I changed into my pajamas and fell into bed, listening to the familiar snores of the other boys as I fell asleep.

**(1)** A Meandering Mixture can either get someone physically lost, or, if administered a certain way, get them lost in their mind. I decided that Flitwick was giving them a heads-up on something that might come up in Potions.

**(2)** This is the first half of a mourning chant from _Acorna_ by Anne McCaffrey. It almost certainly isn't spelled correctly, but this is how I remember teaching myself to say it.

**A/N**: Got a little touchy-feely there, didn't it? -.-u I apologize for that. That's what I get for writing it between eleven thirty at night and two thirty in the morning, with hands that ALSO had a mind of their own. Maybe they were controlling their hand brethren from me! 0.0 Anyway, I feel the need to let you all know that while I was writing this scene, I had the STRANGEST image of Ron seducing _himself_ by accident (which, as Als told me when I mentioned it to her, you probably REALLY didn't need to know). But I just wanted to share that with you; it made ME laugh (well, first, it made me go, 'wtf!' but then I laughed).

Also, she read this and was a little confused on what Ron's spell, the Insinuating Incantation, was actually supposed to do. Let me try to explain it. The Suggestion Spells are a group of similar spells that are sort of like hypnosis with varying levels of power and influencing various types of emotions. Ron picked a particularly powerful one that makes the caster's voice sound like that insidiously persuasive little voice in the back of your mind that wants you to do something you're not quite sure you want to do. What Ron was trying to do was get Hermione to let him off of homework for the night. However, he messed up and cast the spell too strongly, causing him to be sort of... Possessed by it, if you will. It acted on his subconscious desires (-wink- subtle foreshadowing! haha), making him into someone he usually would not or could not be in order to achieve his original ends. End psychiatric rant.

Umino out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** It took me a while to get back the inspiration for this, and I'm thinking that it feels strained because I had to fight with it every step of the way. (it was not posted as it was written—I wrote the first two chapters months ago, and only posted them a little while ago….)

**Warnings:** Same.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. I do, however, own the 'cruentus conspicio' incantation and all related rituals and effects.

_The Next Morning_

I yawned widely, squinching my eyes against the sunlight and wished my ears could do the same against Neville's snoring. A few moments later, I chucked my pillow at him, though that only shut him up for a minute or so; then he started yelling at me for waking him up. Thus began another wonderful day in Gryffindor tower. It only got worse when I realized that Harry hadn't come back yet.

"Where's Harry?" Neville murmured right on cue, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and unconsciously echoing my thoughts.

"Dunno," I muttered, going a little red under the tired scrutiny of the three other boys. Somehow, they made me feel like I had something to hide. "He went down to the Quidditch pitch last night. I haven't seen him since." I added helpfully.

While the rest of them were pondering, I slipped down the staircase to the Common Room, wondering if Harry had simply gotten up early. However, when I got there, he was nowhere to be found.

Harry didn't show up at all that day. Due to the lack of his presence, Hermione continued to avoid me, making the day drag by.

I finished dinner early, and immediately hurried back to Gryffindor, wondering if Harry had returned from wherever he'd gone and had simply decided to take a nap. However, he wasn't in our dorm, and the only students in the Common Room were a handful of anorexic-looking fifth- and sixth-year girls chattering in a corner, and some confused-looking fourth-years puzzling over a piece of parchment. Feeling rather vindictive, I asked to see the note. Looking worried, they handed it over, most likely wondering if they were about to get into trouble.

When they showed it to me, a cold weight settled into my stomach, though I didn't know why. "_Cruentus conspicio,_" I began to read. Though I stumbled a little over the unfamiliar pronunciation, a chill of power shivered up my spine at the sound. "I'll be waiting. Guess Who." I finished half to myself.

I turned the note over, looking for any sign of identification. "When did you find this?" I asked the three, glancing at them almost suspiciously.

"Early this morning, about six-thirty. On that table," a boy with a pale face and dark hair supplied, pointing at the table where some of my homework had been sprawled the night before.

"Lying on top of one of the open books," added a thin-faced, nervous-looking boy.

The third part of their little group, a girl with a thick blonde braid and glasses, fidgeted a little, looking out the window. I followed her gaze, but I didn't see anything. I eyed her, wondering if there was anything to see. A moment later, she spoke hesitantly, though without my encouragement. "It sounds like a spell," she murmured, pushing her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose.

"I think I'll keep this for now." I muttered, folding the parchment carefully and stuffing it into the pocket of my robes while pondering what to do next. After a few moments, I decided that the best course of action would be to find Hermione, no matter how angry she was with me.

When I arrived at the Great Hall, dinner was over. I paused a moment, then hurried toward the library, hoping that we weren't going to play cat and mouse all night. I had no doubt that she would win.

Fortunately, I spotted her only five minutes later, at a table in a particularly musty corner of the library. Gingerly, I crept toward her, hoping she wouldn't disappear when she saw me. In my mind, I tried to compose an apology, but ended up going over the words of the note again instead.

As I approached, she looked up and glared at me, then looked back to her books, obviously ready to ignore me. Gulping, I pasted on what I hoped was a charming smile and closed the last few feet between us.

"What do you want, Ron?" she snapped before I even opened my mouth, though her eyes remained on the pages in front of her.

"Well," I began sheepishly, "I know you prob'ly don't want to talk to me right now, but—"

"Get to the point," she spat, fidgeting with her wand very pointedly.

"Look, Hermione," I sighed, hoping the defeated attitude would work with her. "I'm really, really sorry about what happened last night, but I really, really need your help."

"If you've put off your homework again—" Here she finally looked up, which was better than I'd expected, even if she was still glaring.

"It isn't that!" I promised quickly, holding my hands in front of me protectively.

"Well, then what is it?" she asked, calming down a little.

I looked around, not wanting to be overheard. The closest possible observers were a couple at the opposite end of the long bookshelf, and though they looked very busy to me, I leaned closer to Hermione, lowering my voice. "Harry's missing."

"He's what?" she hissed sharply, raising her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen him all day. He didn't come up to bed last night, and he wasn't there this morning. I was just up there to check again, and he isn't in the dorms or the Common Room. It isn't likely he's in the infirmary, we'd have heard about it by now."

Hermione looked skeptical. "Ron, are you _sure_ you're not overreacting?" she asked. "That spell you used was pretty strong, it's known to cause temporary paranoia and hallucinations if cast incorrectly…"

"It's not a hallucination!" I whispered fiercely. "I'm not seeing things! What I _didn't_ see was Harry, and that's what's bothering me!" I remembered the note and dug it out of my pocket. "Besides, some fourth-years found this on my books this morning, and it could be a clue!" Triumphantly, I passed her the crumpled scrap of parchment and waited to see what she made of it.

"'I'll be waiting, guess who'? No novelist, that's for sure," Hermione replied lightly. I stared at her.

"Why aren't you taking this seriously?" I asked in a strangled voice, wanting to shout.

"Because it's only been one day, and we don't even know if this note is related."

"But we have to do _something_!"

"Fine," Hermione sighed. "You go check the Hospital Wing, to make sure he isn't there, and I'll try to figure out what the first line of this note means. We'll go from there," she ordered matter-of-factly, sliding out her chair and going to consult the library's catalogue system. I stared after her for a moment, then hurried toward the Hospital Wing, eager to prove that I wasn't being paranoid.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, is it better so far? I know it's moving a lot quicker, now that I actually know where I'm going. As a warning, I kinda suck at dialogue, which is mostly what this chapter is made of. Also, I apologize if scene dividers disappeared. Hopefully you weren't too confused?

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me, and neither does _Beauty and the Beast_. However, the "Cruentus conspicio" incantation, all related rituals, effects, ect., along with the Looping Charm belong to me. Please ask if you want to use them.

MWMWM

_Ten Minutes Later_

"He's not there," I panted, skidding to a stop behind Hermione, who was hunched over a moldy-looking tome that was almost as big as she was. I flopped into the thankfully sturdy chair next to hers, having sprinted all the way to the Hospital Wing and back **(1)**.

"More bad news," she muttered, only half speaking to me. "That first line was a spell."

"So, what kind of a spell was it?" I muttered after a few moments, when it became evident that she was not going to elaborate.

"It's Divination, but it's definitely of the Dark sort. Apparently, it uses the Seeker's blood, somehow…I'm not quite sure yet…" she explained, poring over the enormous book.

"Seeker?" I wondered, confused for a moment.

"Not the _Quidditch_ Seeker, Ron! The person using the spell!" she whispered, sounding exasperated.

"Oh," I muttered, feeling stupid. Of course it wasn't the Quidditch Seeker. What was I thinking?

"Hermione! Ron!" Ginny's loud whisper, which no doubt prompted a glare from Madam Pince, startled me, though Hermione was unfazed. "Have either of you seen Harry?" she whispered when she reached their corner, looking rather frazzled.

"No. I haven't seen him since last night. Can't find him anywhere." I told her absently, looking over Hermione's shoulder. Unfortunately, the book appeared to be in Greek. Or something.

"What's that?" my sister asked, curiosity momentarily overcoming her need to look for Harry. After all, he'd only been missing for a day.

"Spellbook," Hermione replied shortly. "I'm not completely sure I'm translating correctly," this statement was directed at me, "but it appears that it's got something to do with a mirror-charm. You smear the glass, and it moves around to show you what you want to see. Kind of like that story, _Beauty and the Beast_, with the magic mirror…"

"_Beauty and the Beast_?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"It's a Muggle story, remind me to tell it to you some other time," she explained, still scanning the yellowed pages.

"What are you _talking_ about?" Ginny asked, looking at Hermione as though she was completely mad. We both jumped a little; I, at least, had almost forgotten that Ginny was standing there.

"Oh, hello, Ginny." Hermione gave her a half-smile, which made her look rather daft. She abandoned it rather quickly.

"Er-hello. Hermione, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, of course. Just trying to translate this…. Whoever wrote this had beastly handwriting." With that, Hermione went back to her translations. Ginny and I stared at her.

"We'll let you know if we see Harry," I assured Ginny, hoping she would leave soon. I didn't particularly want to get her involved in a Dark ritual if I could help it.

Reluctantly, Ginny left, and we were left in silence once more, with Hermione translating and me looking over her shoulder, pretending I knew what the book said, too.

After another five minutes, Hermione let out a short string of muttered curses, some of which I was sure she'd picked up from Fred and George.

"Whassamatter?" I sputtered, shaken out of my glassy-eyed daze.

"I'm an idiot! I was translating this as modernized Latin, not Roman Latin! **(2)**"

I stared at her for a moment. She scanned through the text once more, and nodded.

"It makes perfect sense now," she stated confidently.

"So what does it _say_ then, if it makes so much sense?" I ask, slightly frustrated.

"I was partially right: you _do_ smear the glass with blood, but it isn't the blood that forms the picture, like I thought before. Apparently, the blood is just the medium for the scrying…" Hermione trailed off, studying the page again. "And before we try this, we're going to want a Looping Charm, just so we don't have to rely on memory…I think I know just the thing…." she muttered, beginning to plan how they'd manage it.

"Hermione," I began, wondering if she was feeling all right. "Didn't you say that was a very _Dark_ spell?"

"Weren't you the one that was so worried about Harry? And since your precious note specifically mentioned this spell, don't you think that should be the one we ought to use, if we bother at all? Do you want to do this or not, Ron?" Suddenly, she was absolutely ferocious, and I vaguely wondered if she'd always been capable of looking so terribly violent.

"I was just _thinking_ that maybe we should look for a different spell. After all, this one could be set with an alarm-trigger," I snapped back, forgetting that we were in the library.

The argument escalated from there until, finally, Madam Pince threw us out, which left us both frustrated; Hermione, because she didn't have the books she needed for her homework, and I because I hadn't been able to prove anything, other than that I could be absolutely pigheaded.

MWMWM

"This is the only lead we've got. I say we use it." Hermione finally sighed. We'd sneaked back into the library under the Invisibility Cloak (which I'd 'borrowed' from Harry's trunk) and stolen the spellbook. Now, we were sitting in a small, unused classroom on the seventh floor, hoping that Filch wouldn't catch us. "I've got a Looping Charm, so we can run whatever we see as many times as we need to. By the time we found another spell, Harry could be who-knows-where. I say we use it."

By this time, I'd given up arguing with her. Taking my silence as agreement, she continued.

"Right. You get the candles and something that belongs to Harry. I'll get the mirror and a knife. We'll meet back here in an hour," she said, picking herself up off the dusty classroom floor.

"Wait! Where'm I going to find _candles_?"

"Steal them from a supply closet, or something! I'm sure you'll figure it out! Just get going! You're wasting time!"

I watched her disappear beneath the Invisibility Cloak (we had agreed that she would need it more, in case she had to steal from the kitchens, or even the Potions cuboard), and wondered what I had gotten myself into.

**(1)** I'm just going to assume that this is a relatively tiring sprint, especially with various staircases.  
**(2)** I don't actually know if there's a difference or not, and anyone who actually _knows_ Latin, don't get on my case about having bad grammar or not knowing what I'm talking about. Because I really _don't_ know what I'm talking about; probably sixty percent of my writing is pretending to know what I'm doing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: I'm thinking that maybe I should stop writing late at night. I sat at the doctor's office for three hours today, and I wanted to write this SO bad. But I had no paper -cries-. So, now I'm going to torture Ron a little bit. I'm proud of myself, though. I managed three decent-length chapters over a five-day break. That's an accomplishment, especially after being stuck for so long.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter not mine. The explanation of premonitive power, however, is mine, as is the twisted fabrication of connections between everything I've ever read about magic. I'm not making any money, don't worry.

I crept through the corridor on the seventh floor fifteen minutes later, feeling like an idiot for not thinking of the Room of Requirement sooner. Instead of coming straight up here, I'd fumbled around in the cupboards near the library, hoping I'd get lucky.

I hadn't.

I'm not quite sure when it dawned on me, but when I realized _exactly_ where I could find candles, I ran up to the seventh floor immediately.

As I reached the tapestry and the space where the door should appear, however, I noticed that something was wrong. Instead of a blank wall, the door was already there.

_Oh, hell_, I thought, moving toward the room anyway.

Just then, the door opened a little, and I froze, not sure I wanted whoever it was to see me.

To my surprise, the head that poked out had a great deal of bushy, very familiar hair attached to it.

"Hermione?" I hissed down the hallway. The head jerked around and it was, indeed, Hermione. She motioned me inside and quickly shut the door behind me.

"I wondered if you'd think of this. I didn't remember it until you'd left, otherwise I wouldn't have bothered splitting us up." she whispered breathlessly, locking the door.

"I only just thought of it," I admitted. "I haven't got anything of Harry's yet," I added, looking around.

Now, the room was much smaller that it had been the last time we'd used it, probably only three meters square, if that. Piled up in a corner of the back wall were several boxes of candles, of all sorts, several of which Hermione had already lit and bewitched to levitate around the room.

"--Fine," Hermione was saying, "we've already got the Cloak, remember? I'm just sorry I didn't think of it sooner." She sat down near a small, unframed mirror and a long, gleaming knife.

"So, what now?" I asked quietly, still studying the uncluttered room.

"We wait." she replied, pulling out several scraps of parchment and beginning to memorize all the properties of a several new runes, mouthing them to herself.

"Don't we need to draw the circle, and stuff: I asked uneasily. It was strange to be alone with Hermione.

"Yes, but we won't need to do that for another couple of hours or so. Get some of your homework done, the Room will help you."

I checked my watch. Ten minutes to nine. It was going to be a long night.

MWMWMWM

"I don't understand," I muttered, checking my watch for the fiftieth time. Ten minutes past nine.

"What don't you understand, Ron?" Hermione asked absently, now quizzing herself on one of the runes.

"Why the spell has to use midnight. Why does it even matter?" I sulked, scowling at the blank wall.

"Ron, aren't you in _Divination_? Even if Trelawney's an old bat, I'm sure you should have come across scrying by now! It's the most reliable type of Divination, almost any witch or wizard can do it." she lectured, tearing her attention from the runes in order to stare at me in disbelief.

"But why _midnight_?" I ignored the part about the homework.

"Because, Ron, all Premonitive powers are amplified at midnight. That's when the powerful Doors begin to open. Just be glad we aren't trying to scry a ghost! The Door to _that_ plane doesn't open until four in the morning!"**(1)**

"Alright. I get it, relax. It has to be at midnight so the ghosts can help us See where the hell Harry's got to. Got it." I assured her. She sighed, but only went back to her runes, muttering a little. I got the feeling that she wanted to hex me.

I checked my watch again, and heaved a frustrated sigh. Only a quarter past. Bloody hell.

MWMWMWM

"Ron." I nearly jumped with excitement. I had been fidgeting for the last two and a half hours, pretending to read a book that the Room had provided.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head, though I was sure I'd seen the corner of her mouth grin. "It's time," she stated, rather unnecessarily.

I jumped to my feet as she began Vanishing the small amount of clutter and sending our unneeded belongings back to the dorms with a nifty little variation that I'd never quite gotten the hang of.

"So remind me what we're going to do?" I asked, watching her. She had translated for me in a whisper, but I only half remembered.

"We draw the circle, light the candles, cut ourselves, and watch the mirror." She rolled her eyes, as if to add 'honestly'.

"Alright," was all I said, not ready to get into an argument about something stupid and miss our chance to find Harry.

"I'll perform the rituals myself, don't worry. Just hold your wand and repeat after me."

"Good." I was relieved; I certainly couldn't remember all the details of the rituals.

Finally, all that was left in the room were the two of us, the required four candles, the mirror, the knife, and Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione lit her wand and picked up the candles. Taking a deep breath, she moved to a corner of the room.

"I call the West to my aid, the Water is with me**(2).**" Ron repeated this, and the light of their wands flashed blue-green. Hermione lit the first candle, which also blazed a vivid blue. Moving clockwise very deliberately, she began the first arc of the Circle, leaving a glowing trail of wandlight behind her.

I watched her closely as she repeated the invocation at each of the quarters, her wandlight changing respectively. She had told me earlier that the Circle was to keep us from unleashing anything from another plane. I began to wonder if we should have thought this over a bit more.

When the Circle was finished and glowing on the floor, and both of us were inside the boundaries, we spoke the last line of the ritual.

"I close the Circle," intoned Hermione, and I followed her lead.

Our wands flashed briefly, and the Circle burst into being, a floor-to-ceiling wall of white light. I gasped, not expecting anything like _that_ to happen. Hermione gave a tired smile.

"Well. I guess that'll keep anything in." I muttered, still staring.

The alarm on my watch beeped. It was midnight.

"Ready?" Hermione asked, folding herself to the ground near the mirror and the other ritual paraphernalia.

I nodded, and sat myself down next to her.

MWMWMWM

**(1)** Premonitive powers are the powers that make Seeing possible. The Doors are the openings to other planes. The less important or powerful ones open and close on their own, usually without a specific timeset. For example, the Door that leads to the Faery plane is open for about an hour around dusk and dawn, meaning that it changes with the seasons. However, the Door to the Cosmic plane opens at midnight, and closes at about three. The Cosmic plane's influence is the one that strengthens or weakens a witch or wizard's powers, and plays a big part in rituals that require a lot of magic. (I am twisted).

**(2)** She's calling the West because the West is the quarter of Water, which will also boost her Sight. Normally, for a regular Circle, she'd call the North, the Earth quarter, first, as the grounding point, but the spell calls for the West first. It takes a lot of power.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Well, chapter six. Hopefully you guys think it's turning out better, too? I don't think I've actually gotten any reviews yet.

I finally saw the new movie last night. Fred + George are the best ever (I like their hair better long), and Cedric looks like my friend Steve (except Steve has better hair, lol). I don't like the new Dumbledore. He's not calm enough. Voldemort was good, though (except for that split second where he kinda looked like the werewolf from movie three), as were the merpeople and the Apparating.

Themesong I used to write this chapter:

_'push me under_

_pull me further_

_take me all the way, _

_take me all the way...'_

A song by 3 days grace, which my friends and I call 'that one song'

No, this doesn't have anything to do with anything.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter still not mine. The ritual is mine, though, as is the Looping Charm. Still. Dolohov's daughter and her dungeon are mine, too.

MWMWMWM

I watched Hermione take a deep breath, holding the knife firmly in her right hand. Quickly, cleanly, she made a precise, shallow cut across her left palm. She hissed through clenched teeth as crimson welled up. She flexed her palm a little, then smeared her blood on the mirror, whispering, "My blood for the Sight."

With that, she handed me the knife and rested her hands palm-up on her knees. The spell specifically stated not to heal the wound before the ritual was completed.

I hesitated a moment, with the knife blade pressed to my skin, but then plunged ahead. I figured that if Hermione could do it, then I could, too.

The silver burned. A small "ah!" escaped before I clamped my mouth shut. Hermione gave a snort.

It was a 'men are such babies' type of snort.

I ignored it, and did my best to ignore the pain as well. Copying Hermione, I smudged my own blood over the mirror, mixing it with hers and spreading it over the entire glass, like she'd instructed earlier. "My blood for the Sight." I repeated. The mirror glowed, then seemed to absorb the blood, leaving it slightly clouded.

I sat back, the burning in my palm beginning to fade. Whoever created this spell must have been a sadist. "Now what?" I asked quietly, unsure. I eyed the mirror, which was still glowing faintly.

"Now, we say the incantation and concentrate on Harry as hard as possible. Grab a corner of the cloak." she explained, picking up the mirror, loosely holding her wand in her still-bloody hand. I pick up my own wand and take a fold of the cloak as instructed.

"On three."

"Right."

"One. Two. Three."

"_Cruentus conspicio!_" Surprisingly enough, we cast exactly together. That had to be a good sign.

It turned out that our wands were unnecessary. They didn't react at all, though the mirror glowed briefly as the cloud within the glass began to shift, almost reminding me of a crystal ball, though much Darker in nature. I'm sure they don't create crystal balls with human blood. I quickly wrenched my thoughts back to Harry, not wanting to throw the spell off now.

A flickering light appeared off to the side of the mirror as we watched in silence. As we watched, it bobbed closer, carried by a tall shadow, which was followed by an even taller shadow. A distant-sounding groan echoed from the mirror, and the vision temporarily blacked out. It was back in a moment, however, and the two shapes with the torch were standing directly in front of the mirror.

_"Pathetic,"_ the tall shadow hissed. The torch flickered, and I could see that it belonged to a man with corpse-pale skin and a flat nose. I had never seen it before, but I knew who it had to be--

"Voldemort." Hermione breathed, sounding angry.

"Shoulda known," I added, still watching curiously as the first form placed the torch in an old-fashioned bracket on the wall, illuminating a little more of what I realized had to be a cell. The figure who had been holding the torch took a step back, and the light fell on a feminine form, dressed in red, and attached to a sneering face. It was long, and rather familiar. I knew her face from _somewhere_.

_"You killed my father, Potter. Now I'm going to have to hurt you. My master, the Dark Lord, has given me permission to torture you before he finishes you off."_ she nearly crowed, her voice low and hoarse. I finally realized where we had to be seeing all of this from. We were seeing it from Harry's point of view.

_"No, I didn't--"_ We heard Harry's voice for the first time, sounding obstinate but pained.

_"Oh, yes you did, Potter. That night in the Ministry, Antonin Dolohov. Ring any bells?"_ Her face had contorted into a very cruel look indeed.

_"I didn't kill him--"_

_"You may as well have! Black killed him before he died! For _you_, Harry Potter!"_ She was screaming now, her wand out and pointed directly at Harry's face. Behind her, Voldemort wore a cruel smile. _"Crucio!"_

Screams echoed from around Harry's cell, and the vision blacked out, though the screaming didn't.

"_Finite_." Hermione murmured quietly, and the clouds closed over the mirror again, cutting off the sound of Harry's screams. I looked over at her. Angry tears were pouring down her face. She pushed the Invisibility Cloak off of our laps and sat the mirror on top of it, trembling a little.

Without a word, she healed her palm, then grabbed mine and healed it, as well. It left a raised white scar.

"What are we going to do?" I asked uncertainly as we got to our feet.

"I'm going to open the circle. I've already sealed the mirror." she choked out, picking up her wand again and beginning the opening. I watched her in silence.

"I dismiss the West, the Water has served my purpose. I open the Circle." she finished. The circle flashed and disappeared, leaving the room very dark. Almost immediately, Hermione lit her wand, and after a moment, I did the same.

"I _meant_, what are we going to do about Harry? Some crazy bitch of a Death Eater's got him locked in her basement, with Voldemort standing by to kill him when she's had her revenge!" I immediately felt bad for shouting at her. And I hated how hysterical I sounded. To tell the truth, though, the only way I could even stay coherent was to repeat what we both already knew.

"I don't know." Hermione whispered, looking lost in the faint wandlight. "I don't know."

I'm not sure how it happened, but before I knew it, I was holding her shaking form against me. I'd imagined it a million times, wanted to do a million things, but in my mind, she'd never been sobbing.

And that changed everything.

So I held her tightly, and let her cry.

MWMWMWM

The reason the spell doesn't complete itself until after Ron repeats is because they're underage, and their blood isn't quite potent enough for the spell. It needs a boost, so BOTH of them give the blood, making it twice as potent and easily strong enough for the spell. Then, because they both gave blood, both of them need to say the incantation to make it work properly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Last time I posted, I had seriously backed everyone into a corner, including myself. Let us just say that I get lucky. A lot.

This chapter is dedicated to Als. Without her support, I would still be moping with my writer's block. I love you, Als.

After I got inspired, there was a minor delay: the first part of this was on file on my old pc. Which was sitting, dismantled completely, on the floor of our spare bedroom. So, I kind of played by ear.

Also, I apologize if I repeated any material from previous chapters. But I bet you all are used to my incongruencies, aren't you?

And this song has become my official deception-writing song.

**Warnings:** Same.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, though I own the explanation of why house-elves can Apparate on school grounds.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

"Shhh…We'll find him. We'll get Dad, and Lupin, and Moody—anyone we can find! The Order's _got_ to help us!" I soothed, holding her tightly.

"And just _how_ are we going to find him?" Suddenly, she shoved me away and scrubbed the tears from her eyes. "Ron, be realistic! We haven't the slightest _idea_!"

"All the more reason to go to the Order!" I was angry now, and I felt my face starting to get hot.

"Why? So they can take what we've learned, scold us a little for not consulting them sooner, and then leave us behind while they go off to look for him! I think not!"

"So what do _you_ suggest?" All the fight had gone out of me; I hadn't the energy to argue with her anymore.

Hermione was silent for a moment, other than her attempts to calm herself and think. Then, she turned abruptly, saying only "Come on!" before sprinting off toward the nearest staircase. I trailed behind, wondering what she was thinking now.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

"_Dobby_!" Hermione gasped, ripping open the painting of the fruit basket. Then I realized what she was thinking. Dobby had managed to find Harry at his uncle's house in our second year. Dobby could help us.

Around a dozen high, squealing voices assaulted us when we burst through the hole. Most seemed to be saying something to the effect of "Dobby is not here, sir and miss!"

After a few moments of relatively incoherent chatter, one of the larger elves spoke up. "Sir and miss, Dobby is not here. Dobby is cleaning the Hospital Wing at this moment. Shall I tell him that you visited, sir and miss?"

"Who is visiting for Dobby? Is it Harry Potter sir?" came the familiar squeaking voice from behind us. "Oh no, it is Ronald Weasley sir and Hermione Granger miss! What can Dobby do for you, sir and miss?" We turned just in time to see him bow as low as possible.

As inconspicuously as possible, I shooed the rest of the elves away, not necessarily wanting anyone else to know about this. Meanwhile, Hermione was relating our—problem—to the small elf.

"Harry Potter sir is in trouble, Hermione Granger miss?" Dobby's eyes were even wider than usual.

"Yes. Can you find him for us?"

"Surely I can find him, Hermione Granger miss, but what if where Harry Potter sir is being kept is Unfindable?"

I looked at him quizzically for a moment, but then Hermione replied, "You mean Unplottable?" Dobby nodded, eyes still abnormally wide. Hermione paused, looking thoughtful; I continued to watch the pair of them, only just following the thread of conversation.

"Even if something is made Unplottable, you can still travel there," Hermione mused aloud. "So, if you can find Harry, can you take us to him?"

Dobby brightened. "Yes, Hermione Granger miss, I can do that!" His ears flopped as he nodded, then he _crack!-_ed **(1)** out of existence.

Hermione sighed, and I thought she looked rather worn-out. It kind of scared me, actually. Before I could begin to actually worry, however, Dobby reappeared, looking rather grim. "It is not safe there, Hermione Granger miss, Ronald Weasley sir. It is a _bad place_." He shook his head for effect.

"But we _have_ to go!" This was out of my mouth before I even realized it, and I stood firm when Hermione looked in my direction. "_I_ have to." I added, more softly, but no less insistently.

"I do, too. Will you take us, Dobby? For Harry's sake?" Pleading was generally not in her nature, and it showed in the stubborn set of her jaw.

Dobby looked from me to Hermione and back, and then sighed, ears drooping. "Yes, I will." Holding out his bony wrists, he added in a defeated tone, "Hold on tight, and be careful, Ronald Weasley sir, Hermione Granger miss."

With that, he _crack!_-ed into nothingness again, and this time we went with him. Immediately, it was much worse than when I Apparated myself; it felt like I was being squeezed through a very small tube, a tube which would be very small even for someone Dobby-sized, and I instinctively clamped to Dobby's wrist even tighter, dreading what would happen if I were lost in the vertigo. Privately, it made me rather ill.

In a moment, though we were through, appearing in the shadow of roughly-cut stone corridor. I looked around, squinting in the flickering torchlight, looking for Hermione's comforting silhouette.

"Dobby," I gulped, "where's Hermi—" _CRACK!_ "—one? Damn** (2)**."

I was certain that things had just gotten a great deal worse.

**(1**) Dobby can do the house-elf equivalent of Apparition inside Hogwarts grounds because he uses a different Apparition space. (This is relatively canon; he and Kreacher Apparate and Disapparate on the grounds several times in HBP.)

**(2) **The house-elf Apparition space (which is the only one open on the Hogwarts grounds) must have smaller magical capacity, just out of necessity, since they aren't allowed wands. Ron and Hermione cannot Disapparate on the grounds, making Dobby's magical signature the only acceptable one in the Apparition space. However, Dobby's power plus Ron's power plus Hermione's power is more than any elf should ever be permitted to have, therefore, all three of them cannot "fit" through the system. Because Ron gave Dobby clothes, and because clothes are a potent symbol for any house-elf, some of Ron's magic is melded and compressed by the link, enabling Dobby to sneak through with him as just an exceptionally powerful elf. Hermione, however, has no such bond, and has more potential capacity than Ron anyway; therefore there is no way that she could successfully make it through the house-elf Apparition space.

**Author's Note:** Not quite as long or as good as I'd hoped for, but oh well! At least I can write again!


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Not quite up to my usual standards, in my opinion. Started with the last couple of lines from the other one, just so I didn't have to keep reminding myself. I feel deliciously twisted.

**Muses of the Chapter:** Als, Limewire, and religious dogma XD

Part of this was written after I finished writing an English paper, and part of it was written after a church service. So it probably sounds even less like Ron than usual.

**Warnings:** Same as previous chapters.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or anything else that's been previously copyrighted. I own Annie, Mel, the dungeons, and all usual inhabitants of the manor.

"_Dobby," I gulped, "where's Hermi—" _CRACK!_ "—one? Damn."_

_I was certain that things had just gotten a great deal worse._

"Dobby? Hermione?" I called nervously. The only reply I got was the echo of my own voice.

Anxiously, I looked around, taking in the dimly-lit stone corridor. I heard the faint drip of water somewhere nearby, but other than that, the passage was silent as the grave, which—as I realized a moment later—was not the best way to describe it.

Gulping a little, I paused a moment longer, wondering if Hermione was safe, or if Dobby was coming back, and a million other things. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, I turned and took several steps to the right. Then, realizing that I had no way of finding my way back to this spot if I should need to, I pulled out my wand to mark my way.

Quietly, I muttered a quick _lumos_, then used the tip of my wand to etch a faintly glowing arrow on the stone wall. Taking a deep breath, I moved down the hall as quietly as I could, my wand still raised in anticipation.

Every few dozen feet, I stopped to make another mark as I traveled. Ahead of me, there seemed to be a slowly-brightening light of some sort, and I decided to make for that.

After a few moments, I became aware of a faint skitter behind me. I paused, making another mark, and a few seconds later, it stopped too.

"Who's there?" I'd tried to sound brave, but I didn't think I'd succeeded—my voice trembled a little, and sounded weak even to me. A small sound—it might have been a murmur, but it just as easily could have been the squeak of a rat. "Hermione?" I called, not daring to hope. This time, it was definitely a human-sounding murmur, though I still couldn't tell exactly where (or what) it was coming from.

There was a definite answer, this time. "Hello?" it echoed down several damp corridors. It sounded faintly familiar, but decidedly not like Hermione.

"Who's there?" I called back, moving toward what I guessed as the source of the shout.

"Someone who wants out! Who're you? Aw, hell, it doesn't matter, just keep yelling so I can find you!" It was getting closer now, and Ron could tell that it was a feminine voice, though he still couldn't place it.

"Alright! Sounds like you're nearly here! Just keep following my voice!"

"What the hell else am I supposed to do? Just keep yelling and we'll be fine!"

"Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar!"

"I don't know—we'll find out when I get there, won't we?"

After a few more minutes of shouting, during which it never crossed my mind that we might be heard by someone or something undesirable, a wandlight appeared at the end of my corridor and I almost sighed with relief.

"This way!" I called before she could move the other way, waving my own wand above my head.

"I see you, don't get your knickers in a twist!"

So I waited for her silently, looking over my shoulder to make sure nothing was lurking behind me—though I knew that any danger was more likely to be unseen.

"You. How the hell did I get mixed up with _you_ again?" Her voice was full of disbelief, and I turned around, guessing who I'd find.

I was right. It was the girl I'd met last summer and— embarrassingly enough—the girl for whom I'd nursed a minor infatuation for several weeks.

Melody, damn it.

There was someone with her, though, and I focused on the small, skinny girl in black robes beside her. "Who's that?" I asked bluntly, taking in the dark curls, pale skin, and blue eyes.

"I don't know—I found her wandering around down here. She says her name's Annie. Don't think I'm finished with you, yet, but we've got to get out of here—for her sake, if nothing else. Where were you going?"

I explained that I'd been heading for the light, and that seemed to suit her purposes, so we continued in that direction, me leaving arrows every twenty feet or so.

"What _are_ you doing?" she asked after a few moments of this.

"Making sure I can find my way back if I need to." I stated irritably, as though this should be obvious.

"Back to where? Don't tell me that you already know how to get out!" She looked murderous, and I quickly explained that I'd gotten in by accident, and I was only marking to make sure I didn't take the same turn twice.

We walked the next several hundred feet in awkward silence, me continuing to mark our way.

Unexpectedly, she stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, dousing her wandlight silently. "There's someone up there," she breathed, quickly pressing herself and the child against the damp stone wall.

I stared at her blankly.

"Put it out, you idiot!" she hissed, dragging me toward the wall by my sleeve. I quickly fumbled my wand out, too, and we stood mutely in the dusk of the catacomb for a few moments before I heard them, too.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMW

A/N: Still not as long or as good as I'd like, but I'm hoping for another chapter this weekend, now that I've got a definite plot map in my head. Also, I have discovered the wonderfully insane character that is Bellatrix. So, recommend any fantastic Bella fics you'd like me to read.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Definite plot now, so things should move a little faster. Does this one feel kind of forced, to you? Written in one day, so that could be why. Already working on the next chapter, though. Attempting to make them decent-length, but rather failing.

**Warnings:** Same as previous. Violence, in this one, perhaps.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, ect. Nor do I own Bellatrix or Voldemort (I don't think I really need to say that, but just in case). I _do_ own Mel, Antonia, Jezebel, the manor, ect.

"_I heard something down this way,"_ a cold voice muttered, echoing down the hall. It sounded female, and relatively far away, but I couldn't be sure on either count.

I held my breath, as a shadow appeared at the end of our corridor.

"I found the sneaking brat!" the voice called again, though it was more of a snarl this time, motioning to her companion. I would have been offended, but somehow, I didn't think she was talking about me. "Well, come on!" she called down our hall. To my surprise, the little girl, Annie, was the first one to move.

"Keep your hair on, we're coming," she answered, stepping from behind me, her voice vaguely familiar, and certainly not the high squeak I'd expected.

Melody shoved me from behind. "Well, go on, you. She knows what she's doing."

Meanwhile, Annie had almost reached the end of the tunnel, and the figure there was lighting her wand. Even more surprising than events this far, the little girl fell to her knees. Whatever she said sounded like, "My lady—forgive me—I did not realize you were here, as well—" and things made even less sense than before.

Then, however, I recognized the face revealed by the wandlight. The hooded eyes and long hair, from memories of several years ago—the photographs in the _Daily Prophet_, and that night in the Ministry.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood at the end of our tunnel.

"Stop that childish nonsense, or I'll tack you up on the wall next to them." she snapped, her lip curling as she looked down on the figure crouched before her. "_Crucio!_" The sound of the incantation bit through the damp air of the dungeon, quickly punctuated by screams from the woman who was now writhing in place of the child.

"I'm sorry, my lady!" she nearly sobbed, when Bellatrix let up.

Bellatrix, however, was ignoring the prostrate form at her feet, instead looking off down the other corridor. "About time, Bel," she was saying, as though merely bored.

"Forgive me—I was in the other wing." The new voice had a slight lilt to it, which subtly reminded Ron of his sister-in-law **(1)**. "You have them all, then?"

"I think so. The Dark Lord will be pleased." She flicked her wand at me, once, almost as an afterthought, and I felt my body moving toward her against my will. "Well, if it isn't one of the blood-traitor brats from the Ministry. I'm certain Annie and Mel here are delighted to meet you, Weasley. Did you know their father killed your uncles? **(2)** That's right. Dolohov, what in the name of Circe do you think you're doing?" Her tone had gone dangerous now, and Ron's attention shifted to the woman, who was trying to sneak off down the hallway.

"N-nothing, my lady. Just going to prepare proper bindings for him, next to the other one." She sounded sheepish, and even I didn't believe her—Bellatrix certainly didn't, and there was another Cruciatus Curse ringing through the dingy passage.

"_Always the helpful little bitch, aren't you? Well, let me tell you, as soon as the Dark Lord's finished these two off, you're done as well, so don't get any ideas! You are still expendable_—"

As the shrieking continued, a sinking feeling was growing in the pit of my stomach. I had a feeling that I was going to die very soon.

There was a cold hand on the back of my neck, and my hands had been tied while watching Bellatrix and Annie. My wand had been taken from me, and the tip of another had been placed against my throat. A chill whisper in my ear beckoned.

"Come on. Bella has a grudge she wants to settle. We'd better leave them to it. The Dark Lord is waiting. Don't speak—no one here will help you." With that, she led me away, leaving the three women to finish their quarrel amongst themselves.

I was silent. For a moment, while she led me down passage after passage, I even thought my life was passing before my eyes. Then I realized that this couldn't be the case, because I wasn't dying. Yet.

Nevertheless, I realized that, for the first time in my life, I was truly alone. There was no one by my side, to help me out of this scrape. Harry was probably already dead, Hermione was Merlin _knows_ where, and no one else had the foggiest idea where I was. In this same realization, I knew that, this time, I really _was_ going to die.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

**(1)** Of course I mean Fleur. I'm too lazy to write Jezebel in dialect, and her accent isn't as heavy as Fluer's, anyway. She only married into the French, and picked up a little of the inflection from living with them for years.

**(2) ** Antonin Dolohov is noted as one of the wizards who murdered Gideon and Fabian Prewett (that part's canon). Molly used to be a Prewett, so I'm just pretending she was the kid sister (rather like Ginny), too young to have really gotten involved and put on the Dark side's hit-list yet. Bella's just ranting, really—she's kind of gone 'round the bend, as you can see when Antonia sets her off a bit. Voldemort just doesn't care—she's still perfectly able to torture others.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: Chapter the tenth. W00T. Am I living up to any expectations? If not, tell me what you'd like to see, and I'll try to fit it in before the end (which is quickly approaching, though I have a few chapters left, at least).

And I know that Voldemort is kind of OOC, but he's confident. He knows he's going to kill Harry, and a son of the rest of the rebellion in the bargain. He's feeling pretty damned good about things.

A lot of this is taken from the original draft at this point, if you remember it.

Jezebel's last name is Toiracsi, so that doesn't confuse you.

If you're still reading this, review, please. Love to Als, who is my one faithful reviewer. hug

Kinda short, but whatever. Can't fault me, really--three chapters in a day is damn good for me.

**Warnings:** Same as previous. Possible mistakes, too—I wrote two chapters today.

**Disclaimer:** Same as previous, don't own Harry Potter, blah blah blah. I think you know the drill by now.

"I have him, my Lord. Bellatrix will be along soon."

"Well done, Toiracsi. Put him next to Potter. They have lived together—is it not fitting that they should die so?" I had never met the Dark Lord in the flesh, but it was no trouble to guess who that sibilant hiss of a chuckle had to belong to.

"Yes, my Lord." Roughly, she shoved me against the wall next to Harry's still form. The only good thing about this situation was that Voldemort had just implied that Harry was still alive—though for how long, I didn't dare guess.

"Bind him tightly, now. We wouldn't want him to get ideas about escaping." That cold, quiet laughter made my face burn. I wasn't as afraid as I know I should have been. I was just too _angry_ to be scared.

"I'm a good sport, Weasley. I gave Potter a chance, you know. But, in the depths of his heart, I think Potter wants to die. That's why he couldn't beat me. Do you want to die, Weasley? Oh, I took your wand, but I'm going to give you a chance, as well. If you're strong enough, I'll let you live a little longer." He laughed again, and I was angrier than ever. I couldn't give up.

"_Crucio!_" It was slithering, this time, rather than a bark, but I know I screamed just as loudly as Antonia had. The pain was more than terrible—I thought I was going to break, to shatter into a million pieces. And then it stopped, and I sagged against the wall, feeling the echoes of that agony echo through my body.

"He's stolen your hair, Bel." I heard Bellatrix say, and I had no idea what she was talking about. "He makes that lovely red of yours look awful. Why don't you take a turn? Teach him a lesson, while I take care of Dolohov. If it pleases you, my Lord."

"It does."

"_Crucio!_"

The torture began anew. It was different this time, but no less awful. This time, I wasn't breaking, but being _torn_, shredded by the anguish. **(1)** This time, it didn't stop so soon. Consciousness was slipping away from me, and for a moment, I thought I was going to die from it—or go mad, like Neville's parents.

Then it finally stopped, and the relief was the sweetest thing I'd ever felt. I heard harsh breathing, but it took me a moment to realize that it was mine. Then the laughter started—high, cold laughter—laughter that was completely without mirth—laughter that kept Harry awake sometimes, that he'd tried to describe to me, once, but hadn't been able to do justice. That laughter alone could almost drive you mad more quickly than even the Cruciatus Curse.

I felt a wand tip pressed to my temple, and all realistic sensation faded from my mind. I wasn't sure I heard it or not, but I would have sworn someone whispered "_Legilimens!_" before I blacked out.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

The darkness seemed to spin for a few moments. I wasn't ever really sure how long it had been since I'd been knocked out, but it _seemed_ like only a few moments.

Abruptly, the spinning stopped, and I nearly lost my footing on the dirt floor. Slowly, the darkness began to recede, and I could eventually see again.

The large room I now looked out upon closely resembled pictures I'd seen of the Roman Coliseum, and I felt that sinking feeling in my stomach again. The Coliseum had been best known, in the wizarding world, for the public execution of charlatans, escaped slaves, and the occasional witch or wizard who displeased those in charge.

Dreading what I might find, I started studying my surroundings more closely. In the center of the stone amphitheater, there was a stake driven into the ground. Bound to the forbidding three meter length was a sickeningly familiar human shape, which I'd last seen attached to the wall next to me.

I stood there for possibly a full minute, looking for anything that would help me get Harry down—that Isabel **(2)**, or whatever her name was, had taken my wand from me, after all—but then I noticed a deep, rough growl issuing from the unusual warmth behind me, and I decided that I needed to _move_, as it occurred to me what the Romans had used, more often than not, to perform executions.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMW

**(1)** I would guess, given what Bellatrix said about having to _mean_ the Cruciatus Curse, that every caster is different. It follows that, if the caster _really_ wants to hurt the victim, then it will ache in a certain way, according to the caster. If the caster is less convicted or just doing it for the pure sadistic pleasure of it, it might twist a little more, or some other nuance like that. It depends on the caster, and the relationship to the victim.

**(2)** He means Jezebel, but I seem to recall that Ron can have an awful time with names.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Chapter the eleventh. Nearly there. I would just like to say that I would generally trust Severus Snape a great less than as far as I could throw him (which is remarkably little, considering I'm not terribly strong and he'd probably hex me on sight, for the hell of it), but I'm using him for my own purposes, because, in all canonity, it's still rather a toss up, and I think I'm justified, so long as I can make it make sense. There may be a side-story about Snape and Jezebel, if I get this finished this summer. Still not a Sue, I promise, and probably not even a romance. I won't say too much yet, but I'm seriously thinking about the idea.

Thank Als for beta-ing, and for letting me know that part of this didn't make sense.

**Warnings:** Same as previous. Also, I apologize if you don't like OCs (original characters), but I'm trying REALLY hard not to turn them into Mary Sues.

**Disclaimer:** Same as previous.

I don't recall exactly, but I think I tried to pretend that whatever was happening _wasn't_, and I probably shouldn't have been surprised to find that I was no longer wearing my own clothes, as I sprinted across the hot sand of the arena. After all, nothing else about this made any sense, from the Coliseum itself to the lion I knew was very likely right behind me—of course it had to be an illusion, a mind game manufactured by Voldemort. Even Dumbledore said he was an "accomplished Legilimens;" how could I expect to have any control at all, when Harry had such a hard time even teaching me to resist the Imperius Curse?

Instead of my robes, I was wearing a long-ish cotton shirt and some sort of skirt that was made out of strips of leather, and a pair of worn leather sandals. In short, it seemed that I'd been dressed up as a gladiator—that much was more or less confirmed by the sword my right hand was dragging across the sandy ground of the stadium.

I braced myself for the beast I knew was behind me, but when I didn't feel claws or teeth rending my flesh, I slowly turned, wondering if I could get that lucky. I knew I couldn't before I turned around, though, and sure enough, I watched a long, lean lioness deliberately emerge from the cool mouth of the tunnel I'd been standing in only a moment before. The most frightening thing about this brute was her eyes; instead of the natural, expected hazel-brown, they were Mel's icy blue ones.

The sun glared down on us, scorching me, but I took only distant interest. If I gave her half a chance, I knew she'd kill me. I didn't dare look away, though she swaggered nearer and nearer. A terrible, almost jeering snarl escaped her curling jowls, and I tormented myself with images of gore and bloodied pieces of human bones. (That's the _last_ time I let Hermione tell me about ruddy Muggle history** (1)**!)

All at once, I realized that I still had a sword, but at the same time, I knew it wouldn't be enough to help me much, and I dropped it almost immediately, stumbling a little. For a moment, I wondered why the hell Voldemort had picked ancient Rome for his mind games, but then I decided it could wait until I wasn't being stared down by a witch-turned-lioness.

She was pacing closer now, taking her sweet time getting to me as I backed further and further toward Harry's post. I heard a groan from him, and I looked back without a thought. The lioness lunged, and I realized a split-second too late what I had done. My head whipped back around to meet the snarling maw, and all I could think was how much this was going to hurt.

A set of claws tore down my chest, and I shrieked, but then I couldn't feel it anymore. The rest of the world seemed to have disappeared, except for an unholy chuckle that had to belong to Voldemort. Then, however, even that was gone.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

I don't know how long I floated in darkness. It could have been hours or moments. All I know is that, eventually, there was a flicker of faintly bluish light off to my left. I tried to move toward it, but found there were heavy chains binding me to what I guessed had to be a wall of some sort.

"_Be still_," a female voice whispered, seeming to echo in the emptiness. "_I'm risking a lot for you._" There was something familiar about that voice, but I couldn't quite place it, and stopped trying after a moment, as she began to speak again. "_Don't speak. Don't move. Just watch._"

A blob of glowing color appeared in front of me, and I watched it form into distinct shapes. Then, a voice I _did_ recognize, and again I wondered what the hell was going on. How was I seeing this? Was it just another game?

"_What is it?_" The curt voice of one of my least favorite people on the planet issued from beneath the cowl of the cloak, and I felt a hot wave of fresh hatred burn through me. The hood, oblivious to the witch's unseen onlooker, moved from side to side, I guess to see if anyone on the street was watching.

Then, her voice: "_It's not safe here._"

"_It's not safe anywhere._" Snape contradicted her, still looking up and down the street. "_Come on._"

With that, he grabbed my host's arm and they Disapparated, turning my vision off for a moment, as well, giving a few moments in darkness to wonder again. Was she inside my mind?

When the view reappeared, it was much, much darker outside. I thought we might be in a forest somewhere, but Snape lit his wand and I saw we were at the end of a small, seedy-looking street without a street sign. "_This way._" he hissed, pulling the woman down the row and toward a shack that looked even more run-down than the rest of them. There was a window broken on the front, and the door looked like it was just barely hanging on its rusty hinges. There was no peeling paint—but I assumed that was only because all of it had peeled off a long time ago.

Snape waved his wand, and then opened the door, hurrying inside with the witch in tow, quickly shutting the door behind her.

He looked around warily, then pulled his cloak off, tossing it over a rotting chair and stalking into the next room, his wand still out. Jezebel followed quietly, her wand also out. The next room was full of junk, most of it as badly-off as the chair in the front room. It looked like someone might have lived there, once, but had collected everything into one room before moving out.

"_Now, what is this about?_" I must have been inside her mind, in order to see this from her point of view. That had to be it, though as to why she was showing me this, I had no idea. Instead of thinking any more about it, I only watched them.

"_You wanted a report on Him._"

"_Yes._"

"_He has the boy._"

"_At Beast's?_" I wasn't sure what he meant, but kept listening **(2)**.

"_No. Kitty's, but Beast's there, too._"

Snape swore under his breath.

"_We need to go to the Apothecary._" he snarled, stalking out of the room and snatching his cloak before storming out of the shack, not bothering to reset the wards I guessed were there. I was surprised Jezebel didn't say anything as she closed the door and followed, but I guess she trusted him. More than I can say for myself, even now. There are some feelings you just can't shake, you know?

When they rounded the corner, Snape grabbed her arm again, and Disapparated, this time without even looking, and my view disappeared once again.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

This time, when I could see again, I recognized where we were: Snape was arguing under his breath with the Aurors stationed at the Hogwarts gate.

When it looked like they were about to duel, Jezebel spoke up. "_I must see the Headmistress._" she insisted, and I felt my mind go rather hazy. The Aurors traded a glance, looking reluctant.

"_Call her down here, if you must._" Snape added impatiently, shooting a half-glare at Jezebel.

One of the Aurors sent a Patronus up to the castle, and we waited for her in silence, Snape and the Aurors still hostile. Jezebel, however, seemed quite calm. A few minutes later, McGonagall came hurrying down the lawn, accompanied by another Auror.

"_Really, now, who is it—?_" she snapped, looking very tired in the faint wandlight.

"_Minerva,_" Snape said quietly. "_I have news that would be of great importance—_"

"_You,_" she snarled. "_Important news! Ha! What makes you think I'll believe _**that**_? Arrest this man,_" she told the Aurors, who advanced on him with their wands.

"_Minerva!_" he called as she turned to walk away, "_You'll regret this!_"

"_No. I don't think I will._" she snarled over her shoulder, a bitter smile on her face.

"_Minerva. Listen to me. I know where Potter is._" Her mouth fell open in shock, and the Aurors froze, though their wands still covered Snape.

"_Liar._" she finally sighed, turning away again.

"_I will not grovel, Minerva. I know what you think of me, and I will not deny it; I have done what I had to in order to fulfill Dumbledore's purposes—_"

"_How dare you use his name, you foul—_"

"_Think of the boy._" Snape turned away this time, taking Jezebel by the arm and walking down the road toward Hogsmeade. I didn't understand why he hadn't Disapparated—after all, those three Aurors were still under orders to arrest him!

Then, however, McGonagall told the Aurors, with a long-suffering kind of tone, to open the gate. "_Where is he, Severus?_" she spat, striding briskly down the path behind us.

"_I knew you'd see things my way._" There was disgusting smugness in his tone, and I hated him even more, even as he told her where she could find Dolohov's manor, and exactly which painting to speak to in order to get beneath the manor, and then even which turns to take to find Harry.

"_Severus,_" she said as he began to walk away. "_You're still under arrest_."

"_I think not,_" he shot back, and I would have sworn he was grinning, in that sickening way of his. This time, he did Disapparate, Jezebel in tow.

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

**(1)** Magical maladies don't bother him as much as Muggle ones, because often, magic ones can still be healed by magic. Muggle ones can be exceptionally gruesome, and he doesn't understand how anyone without magic could do that.

**(2)** Quick code/explanation of how my mind works: **Beast**Bellatrix. Snape may have known her as 'Bella', which means 'beauty' or 'beautiful'. Beauty and the Beast is actually a wizard legend that Muggles got ahold of. In the original, Beauty had Multiple Personality Disorder, which, in the wizarding world, is kind of like a Jekyll and Hyde case. So really, Beauty IS the Beast—which is quite appropriate for Bellatrix.

**Kitty**Antonia, Dolohov's kid. 'Kiddie' sounds like 'kitty'.

**Apothecary**Hogwarts, because he used to be the Potions master, and potions usually need things from the apothecary, even if the wizard has his own cupboard of ingredients.


End file.
